


Grave

by IrreWilderer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dry Humping, F/M, First Time Together, Smut, Solas Smut Saturday, actual humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrreWilderer/pseuds/IrreWilderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas figures out putting Lavellan in her pajamas means he gets to have sex with her. But first? Angst! Also angst during. But smut, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grave

For all the smoke and singe, Adamant Fortress had been a bargain. Although the folly of the Wardens was a cruel reminder of hasty action, to physically walk in the Fade had been an experiment Solas would never have accomplished alone. It was gift of brilliant circumstance bestowed by the Inquisitor's blithe, unknowing fingers.

Sitting at his desk, Solas watched his own bored digits drum heavily on the wood in their impatience. The hollow sound echoed and then got lost against the fresh, glistening fresco. 

The monument to the Inquisition's endeavors was set on stone, so to speak, and not once in three days had the Inquisition's Inquisitor stepped foot in the rotunda. Solas was mourning the chance to explain the more obvious interpretations behind the painted images, which of course she'd have pressed him for. Ma'ven would have settled on some piece of furniture draped in protective cloth, pondering silently and respectfully, until Solas offered a suggestion of his past. Often he explained painting gave him some comfort. Once, he'd hinted that his father had taught him.

But no, the Inquisitor had not come. There were so many thoughts Solas wished to lay out and organize, and it was easier with her around for she often urged him to consider further. A clever child, although an adult in her world.

The great hall of Skyhold was emptying and cold as the stone held stubbornly to the chill of late evening. The door to the Inquisitor's quarters was heavy and sang a deep plea for attention, yet Solas ignored the creaking warning and began to climb the steps which he had once counted in ages past. Five, nine, twenty; lives and stairs fell behind him fast.

In the room full of conventional finery and furniture of exotic woods lay the only treasure of any worth; and she was snoring.

Solas was surprised to find her dreaming. He'd assumed Ma'ven would be working or reading. Then he spied the tears collecting in her eyelashes. They crept thickly passed her temple and onto the pillow in puddles.

Pity inspired sudden forward motion, but responsibility stilled him before he could reach out to her. Indeed, she was dreaming gravely, but if Solas woke her he'd have no choice but to take Ma'ven in his arms. Everything complicated terribly when she was in his arms and he could forget himself. The alternative, of course, was no less complicated.

And yet.

Solas was startled by the appearance of the place: a memory of the Fade which was anything but faded for the failings of memory. It was sharper and blacker than he recalled, the rocks and crags outlined in an oily smear like a half-finished portrait. Yet, and this was to Ma'ven's credit, it was all still remarkably lucid. Then the Fade's darker aspects conspired to full glory and blended in curious moments of terror.

Pleading to herself impossibly sadly, Seeker Cassandra was kneeling in some dirt and staring at a sword gleaming brilliant before her, but for all her mewling her hands would not reach for it. Solas could feel the woman's motivation, and see it in the form of an oncoming danger, yet somewhere between desire and action Cassandra failed herself. She could not protect herself physically or mentally. The woman was utterly helpless in the face of chaos.

"Ah," Solas said aloud to himself. The graveyard in the Fade. He remembered the look on Ma'ven's face: it had been questionable at the time, but now it was plainly obvious.

Cassandra screamed in pitches of fear as the mountain of madness barreled down. Iron Bull had become the thing he called himself to remind himself that he was better: an animal. Madness goaded Iron Bull into tearing Cassandra apart in bloodless parts and mists of anguish. She screamed and he snarled, a symphony of slaughter.

Shrieks like ice pierced Solas's ears and he turned to a hooded demon. It was doing an admirable job of appearing like Despair, shuffling about despondently, its black cloak dragging behind it. Solas sighed.

"Cole."

The ice demon paired well with the Ice Queen ignored on her throne. Luminous, sublime Vivienne was seated before a group of people speaking of her in trivialities, for she was but the irrelevance of a passing fashion to be forgotten as the season turned, never to be required again.

Of course, whilst speaking of Madame de Fer, their backs were turned on the fading image of blonde hair and red thread that made the nothingness of Sera. Sera took the over-stuffed purse from a pimply noble to give to a child with bare feet, but nothing, the purse was back on the noble's belt, and nothing was all Sera could do. For all the breads and cookies she might take from the shops and put before a starving mouth, it all ended up on a lord's porcelain plate. The Nothing might have screamed if she could stop fading in and out. The Nothing of Andraste could not help her now.

The thought of Varric's parents destroying themselves at the loss of Orzammar. No, it wasn't that: it was Varric, destroying himself at the loss of Kirkwall. Drinking to end it; better to end it than be parted with the glory of what once was.

Dorian's parents stood tall and beautiful in a pale light. Except that the man was younger, finely bred, more finely than his father and his son would be finer still. Dorian Pavus had found the temptation of power too strong, and what a lovely wife he had. Oh, there was no desire for her in Dorian, but the sweet fruit of prestige and admiration from a broken system convinced him that there was and it tasted fine. The warmth and love of a man's embrace could not tempt this Dorian for anything, even if that embrace was his own and the warmth born of self-love.

On his knees, chained to a mirror of impossible height and breadth, Blackwall stared into it silently, eyes all empty and dead. There was blood everywhere, just... everywhere.

All these horrors swept over the elf like a tide of grease on his soul which rose with the grimy current. Their friends were howling and wailing like thunder.

"Solas."

He turned and saw what he sought.

"My heart. Take my hand," Solas asked. "I am no trick of the Fade."

"I know," Ma'ven affirmed, arms falling from their self-embrace. It was interesting how exhausted one could look while dreaming, but her round features refused absolute defeat. "I never see you in... this nightmare. But I'm glad you're here."

Taking the elf to him, settling her firmly against his chest, Solas nuzzled the flood of brown hair which was bereft of scent in that place. "You can not protect them from impossible realities," Solas promised, eyes drifting over the image of Helplessness being assaulted by Madness once more. "Varric can not physically become his parents, just as Sera can not fade in and out of being."

"No matter how much you wish she might?" Ma'ven teased from within the cave of the crook of his neck.

"You understand, then, the pointlessness of this fear," Solas realized. He tilted her cheek in hopes of finding an answer in her eyes. "Why see this?"

"If I can save them..." The confidence dispersed with a crack of her voice. "But I can't."

Solas saw the graveyard for what it was: Ma'ven's inability to help the people she cared about the most. This was her greatest, blackest, sharpest fear. And it was such a simple fear.

"Somewhere green," Solas whispered calmingly, brushing the tip of his nose through her brown hair. It was so easy to lay claim to her comforts in the Fade. "A place where it is pleasant and familiar. Take us there, Ma'ven."

The elf felt the female tense in his arms. Then she was gone.

Solas awoke a sigh later. Ma'ven was looking at him from the foot of the bed, an expression of strained assurance struck across her cheeks. Here was where the Inquisitor could be strong again.

"I can't say that I'm unhappy you woke me, but it is late."

"I did not expect to find you asleep," Solas confessed. He all but hopped off the mattress. "I thought you would still be working, and might welcome a short distraction. You have been so engrossed in your duties that-"

"Are you suggesting I shirk my responsibilities?" Ma'ven interrupted, feigning shock. "Why, is this a desire demon that has followed me out of the Fade?"

The older elf chuckled. "That you find avoiding your duty so exhilarating is something we should discuss, Inquisitor. Though perhaps later. And from the state of the crumpled travel missive on the bed, you clearly fell asleep doing just as I suspected." Solas's smirk fell. "Have you been avoiding me, vhenan?"

Ma'ven's heart forgot their playful banter as well. "Whyever would I, emma lath?"

"To avoid what is plaguing your thoughts."

The elfmaid turned and faced the gleaming fireplace full of glowing amber. "It's... true that I did not want a lecture."

Solas strode up behind her, bending in near to consider the warmth of her hair. "I only wish to help." He regarded the hint of saponaria and honeysuckle in her locks with a private, throaty purr. "And you love my lectures."

"Indeed." Ma'ven closed her eyes softly, every inch of her tickled by every flick of proximity to the body behind her. "Being in the Fade physically- I'm sorry, Solas, but whatever it was for you it was not that for me. I want it to be, but it was not."

Solas considered the truth of this. The Fade, veiled and pathetic, was a palace for nightmares because of him if one was not careful. He could tell her of the implications of the mirror images and what they truly strove to be, what they had once been, because he could tell her and he could finally just-

Ma'ven spun around and pressed into his mouth. She took his bottom lip between hers and sucked so softly that it could only be described as chaste. Ending it with a contented hum, the female then lovingly nicked his chin with her knuckle before moving to retire for the night.

Solas was always so close to finally telling her everything. 

Long fingers sought the curve of her stomach, and in a brutal tug brought Ma'ven flush against his chest. Splaying his hand out over her womb, Solas began memorizing the little dips of her body as Ma'ven stiffened against him, buttocks pressing stirringly against his sex. The older elf could not have their conversation of words and touching end just yet.

"Don't play with me," the elfmaid pleaded and it cut. The Inquisitor knew well that Solas's intentions were never a game.

"Nightmare knew what it is you most fear and worked it against you." Solas's other hand came around and clutched her opposite shoulder firmly in a supportive embrace. "You survived; you thrived. Why be ashamed?"

"I should have been stronger," Ma'ven said certainly, knowing avoiding Solas's quest for truth was pointless. "If you only knew how much... I hated it. Gods, I hated the Fade. It exhausted me. I wish I could be there again and learn from it, but then I sleep and see nothing but that graveyard. Such a waste." A quiet confession finally betrayed the poisoned spring of her sadness: "I hate the thing you love, Solas."

"Ar lath ma," Solas hushed her forgivingly. Freeing her shoulder, his forefinger tipped her chin and dragged down her throat to pluck at the collar of her tunic. His other palm pulled harder at the female's abdomen. "Never fear telling me the truth of things."

Ma'ven keened with the sudden trembling acknowledgement of the male's hands all over her. Though the occurrences of kissing between the two were sparse, Solas was always very driven and it was beautiful to have a glimpse of his guarded intensity. Tonight, however, Ma'ven would not be able stand the loneliness that always followed when he left. 

"Then I must tell you something, Solas. I truly can not believe how teasing you are of me tonight." And pulling away, the female smiled at him as much as she could in her melancholy. "Good-night, my love."

Solas watched as the Inquisitor approached the wardrobe at the other side of the room. Midnight poured in through intricate windows newly installed since Solas had called Skyhold his castle and this bedroom 'mine'. 

"Yes?" Ma'ven inquired upon returning and tossing a heap of plumb-coloured sheer fabric onto the mattress.

Solas's curiosity was a tricky beast to slay, as they knew. "You said you do not see me when you dream of that place."

"Never. Never do I see you there," Ma'ven confirmed with a shrug. "Why would I? That's nothing to fear. It's the one thing that I know will never happen."

Such determination married with the actual truth of the matter left a lesion in his happiness to last a lifetime. Solas might die alone and Ma'ven could do nothing about it, for she would likely already be gone to the grave.

The female laughed at his wrenched expression.

"You give me too little credit, apparently," Ma'ven chastised freely. And then she gasped. "What- Solas, what are you..."

Solas had stepped forward and was now at the clasps of her tunic, working the first one undone with precise slowness. "It is you who give me too little credit, Inquisitor. I said I wished to help." He dipped his head in close, top lip dragging across her cheek like a branding iron. Sometimes her beauty of spirit simply begged him to betray his better judgement. Ma'ven would be his in every lifetime, if he had the choice. "Let us ready you for bed."

The Inquisitor just about fell on her ass.

Clean nails blinked in the fire glow as her tunic became a thing of the past. Solas made thick, thankful tutting sounds while new slopes of skin were revealed: the bends of her collar bone, the dip of her navel, all traced by shadows in the dark. The binding material about her breasts was of indulgent Orlesian crêpe, coloured like misty forests under a cloud covered sky. Solas palmed her shoulders and pulled the tunic down and away.

"You sound far too pleased for someone who has seen me naked before," Ma'ven observed, appreciating how the older elf was also lined and shaded by the ink of night. Solas's lips were fuller as though they'd been teased, and his freckles were a blush across his sculpted cheeks. Of course, he was always beautiful.

"That was months ago. You were not yet Inquisitor." Solas made a show of lowering his gaze to her breasts, eyebrows piqued. "And nor were your tastes in undergarments so expensive."

"And, of course, it was to heal a wound so it was all innocent," Ma'ven corrected him. "Not a chance to appreciate my underclothes. Or breasts."

Solas folded the tunic neatly with care. "Naturally." 

The male elf then tossed the shirt away without further consideration onto the floor.

"Now, Inquisitor," Solas began slowly, flicking one clasp of her trousers apart. His mind swam with the memories of her from those months ago, then flooded with thoughts of how she was now different and yet the same; just as kind, but more driven for all that she was responsible for. "I have a question." And Ma'ven loved it, took pride in it, the thought of destroying evil and saving the people. The weight of it all was a small cost paid from her boundless vault of charity.

"Yes, Solas?"

"I ask that you answer truthfully and not in consideration for myself," the male continued, and there went another button. More and more of her naked abdomen was tempting him, but all Solas could think was that they were not the same, the two of them. Solas sought to fix a dreaded mistake for which he deserved retribution. His plan would mean the deaths of many. And Ma'ven, oh vhenan, she only wanted the people's pain to stop.

"I will."

The final clasp was freed and her trousers collected at her feet. Solas met her stare. The world did not require their attention that night. "Do you sleep in your underthings as well?"

Ma'ven blinked hard, swallowed hard, and then smirked very slightly. "You are cruel tonight, Solas."

"That is not an answer," he scolded.

"Then, in the interest of honesty..." Ma'ven bit her bottom lip. "No, I do not also sleep in my underthings."

Gratefully, Solas looked over the body before him shining white in the light of the moon which had chosen to join them. Its silver slivers cascaded through the windows, softening the image. Ma'ven eyes were wider, lips plumped, muscles strengthened. And her stomach; he loved the girl's stomach. The curve of her belly invited Solas in the purest primal way that a body can entice a man. He wished to kiss it, and pepper praises over it while it promised him a son or a daughter and Ma'ven cried with happiness.

Solas knew his fingers were shaking as they reached for the material around Ma'ven's breasts and he hated himself for it.

"Solas," the female warned quietly. The movements tickled as he plucked out the end of the material and started unravelling it from her breasts. His fingers pulled agonizingly across covered skin which was gradually, quickly becoming less covered. "I appreciate the gallantry, but... you don't need to do this."

"Would you prefer it if I stopped?" asked the male, hands stilling.

"Creators, no," Ma'ven laughed breathlessly. "But you're not obligated here."

Solas smiled.

Round and round the cloth untangled, as water through his fingers which he hardly felt. At last came the beginning knot roughly anchored across her breasts, the skin pinched by tight, careless pressure. Not a thing done with much attention. There were too many other concerns to preoccupy her mind. With affection that could be heard like a sweet harp, Solas plucked away the cord, her modest tits freed and comfortable.

Taking time to fold the expensive Orlesian material, Solas studied Ma'ven as she in turn studied the situation. She'd been naked before him before, it was true, but now they were lovers so it was different. She seemed to be staring at her own breasts, considering how Solas might see them. Of course, all Solas could manage to do was admonish himself for remembering them incorrectly. They'd been larger in his mind in the very early mornings which was when he pictured them most often. But these were perfect: small, yet downy, nipples rouged and already raised, teased from the sensations of the binding cloth slowly coming off.

"Nearly there," Solas assured her, eyeing the practical loincloth of plain cotton around her nether area.

Pulling the article away easily, the older elf merely glimpsed the curve of flesh there, everything else hidden behind tightly locked legs. His responsible resolve was finally considering how perfectly simple it would be to reach around, cup her ass, then dig his fingers in greedily and forget everything else.

Instead, Solas picked up the plumb coloured garment heaped on top the indigo-dyed bedcover.

"Arms up?" he suggested.

Ma'ven complied, and the motion brought her breasts high and nearer to his face, mostly because she made sure to arch her back. Solas pulled the long, flowing robe over Ma'ven's body with an amused shake of his head.

The gown hugged nothing but hid very little as the moonlight silhouetted her body through the loose material. There was something so domestic about Solas's little display that he actually felt guilty. The guilt was likely born of how happy he was at that moment, happiness that swirled in his belly like an intoxicating cocktail.

"Your pride is... rather engorged," the Inquisitor said with a self-pleased snort, her eyes also roaming. His clothed frame was always tempting for her.

"What a lovely euphemism," Solas laughed, looking down as well. Desire and blood had rushed to his dick, but he was too old to be coy about it and this was hardly the first time she'd seen him with a hard-on. His clothing never had left much to the imagination, after all. The material was loose and freeing, and his manhood was half erect.

"And do you know what pride comes before?"

The older elf shook his head, almost pained. "Hush, my heart. Do not spoil it."

Peeling back the bedcover, Ma'ven chuckled and laid out on her side, her hip a generous curving hill of plumb atop the white sheets. The partly translucent garment outlined her nipples and womanhood in eye-drawing colour. "But it's clever. You'll laugh."

Solas couldn't bear it: the good-willed humour, gracious form and understanding of his needs sculpted into something precious as porcelain and strong as stone. His hand in hers, his tongue between her teeth, even his covered legs nestled in her vieled thighs: they didn't need to be having sex for him to be inside her. Quickly moving to the other side of the bed, Solas cradled up to her back, pushing his now rigid cock into the flesh of her ass.

Ma'ven gaped and simply let him do as he would, though she glowed inwardly; she didn't want to urge him too far. Solas always stopped when he had exhausted his comfort levels. It was difficult, however, to keep from flinging her leg over him and begin rubbing away against his hardness, for her softness was screaming for attention. Soon, Solas complied.

Adjusting himself so that his length would slide through her thighs, the heat of her swelled and gripped, and Solas started rutting slowly. It was more than he thought it could be, and the most he'd felt in immeasurable years. The elfmaid mourned a more naked touch as his cock teased along the length of her opening, his head a blunt instrument of torture only slightly rippling through her folds, the sensations cruelly muted by their clothing.

"That," Solas said between heaving breaths and swaying moves, "... is a misnomer."

Ma'ven's head fell back onto his shoulder. Her throat was a long column of throbbing marble as she sobbed happily. "Mmm?"

Solas luxuriated as the younger elf began lurching her hips against his movements, the variants in friction unpredictable and devastating. He'd been saying something, oh how he loved speaking with her, loved her voice, and he was hearing all sorts of new sounds slip passed Ma'ven's sculpted lips now. "Pride cometh after a fall," he remembered at last in a moan.

"Pride cometh after?" Ma'ven repeated rather hopefully, her hand moving to her breast. Solas's followed, the flats of his fingers teasing the nipple. It elicited the loudest, most frantic whimper so far.

Then Solas started crashing into her, the flicks of sensation they shared melding into one continuous moment of sharp abandonment. "The fall... came..." His other hand dug into her hip and pulled her ferociously against his crotch. Sweat beaded on his brow, and again, again, Solas dug the head of his cock into her veiled cunt while she arched her back, rocked her hips, and attempted to stifle utterly shameless wailing. "...and Pride-"

Solas stopped. He stopped speaking and he stopped thrusting. He was two words away from saying all that he was: the monster who had destroyed the world, the elven people, her, and he loved her so much.

"Solas, no," Ma'ven moaned while the male moved away. The solid wall of his chest was replaced by cold emptiness, but the cold couldn't compare to the wet heat between her legs. "Fenedhis!"

Solas turned to apologize if he could manage so many words of regret through his clenched teeth, but his ears were filled with sodden music before he'd even come to face her. There she lay, nightgown raised up to her waist, legs bent and spread, left forefinger rubbing furiously against her clit. Ma'ven's nectar was so thick that the sound was a symphony and the smell hit the back of Solas's throat like he was swallowing wine.

The brightness in Ma'ven's eyes as she looked at him was unbearable because with her brow smoothing out as it was, it seemed she had already forgiven him.

"My love." Solas never could believe her charity when the rest of the world was like it was. Watching her watch him while she fingered herself, Solas went about freeing himself from his pants and pulling his shirts over his head.

Ma'ven's hand froze and fell away from its dance. "I didn't mean..." Propping up on her elbows, her eyes traced over his frame which was gorgeous and unfamiliar. Solas guarded his nakedness just as he did all those secrets she knew he kept. Like the wolf's jawbone at his breast. "Only if you want to, Solas. Please. I don't want to pressure you."

"You aren't," Solas promised, standing tall and looking down at her through the darkness. The smell of her was so thick that the aroma could never possibly clear, or so he hoped.

Nestling between her knees, the moist promise of her deep kiss beckoned the older elf to ease in immediately, but Ma'ven tensed when he got into position.

"Take it off," the female pleaded, dark hair framing her face on the pillow. "Whatever the weight of that is, it isn't needed here."

Solas's cheek twitched. Clever child. He kissed her forehead. "It is a weight I carry willingly, vhenan."

Ma'ven sighed and stared sharply into his eyes, unsure of the truth. Finally, she relented. "Alright."

And the wolf's jawbone remained where it was.

With the slowness of a criminal memorizing details of his last trespass, Solas filled her. Ma'ven gripped the bedsheets and huffed as she was stretched, his member much fatter than anything she'd experienced before. There was a dark wholeness she felt in her belly as he withdrew halfway and then burrowed back, angling down, spreading her out and out.

Ma'ven's tight walls were easing and swallowing him and Solas choked on how good it was in her; the feeling of her womanhood gripping and sucking at every sensitive nerve in his cock. He could remain stationary, simply enveloped in her blaze for hours, and it would be enough. But instead he picked up his pace ever so slightly at his lover's twitching, tensing insistence.

"Solas, I-" 

He felt nothing else. Ma'ven clenched suddenly and came undone in silence. Solas was astonished at how quickly her orgasm arrived, and watched as she was washed in it; head thrown back, breasts pressed to his body, and she shuttered around him, enveloped in an afterglow that lasted only shortly. He was enraptured as Ma'ven laughed and smiled. And, perhaps, he was a little disappointed by the hastiness.

Once she had caught her breath, Ma'ven pulled her legs around his waste, urging him to finish and to find his pleasure which he did. It was not a drawn-out thing. "Ar lath ma," she breathed into his ear. "Ma sulahn'nehn." Solas pulled out and spent into the discarded breast band, his mind blank for the moment but thoughts were already queueing to crowd him.

Laying there in the large room, their sighs flew to the ceiling as night and cold crept in. He felt the backs of knuckles smooth over his forehead, down his nose and tap his chin. 

"Sleep, vhenan." Solas pulled the covers over her.

"Mmm hmm."

They both turned on their left sides and snuggled into one another, sleep descending fast. They found each other quickly in the Fade for another embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm gonna write a follow-up for Solas Fluff Friday.


End file.
